Page 138 of The Kiss of Deception

“Go away. Now!”

With a final glance at me, as though he’s memorizing me once more, taking his fill for the ride home, he jogs away to his shiny car. I stare with swollen lips that break in a grin as he yells over his shoulder, “Drive safe, Furiosa!”

I turn the ignition, and I go home.

I go home and I get lost in the arms of my love.

Tomorrow, all the struggles, all the uncertainties, all the fears will still be here.

But so will he.

So will I.

Forever resides in the quiet moments we live together and the memories we make—the little nothings in between the big things.

And we are forever.

In this moment, we are forever.

Epilogue

Zoe

The crisp chill of a cold December night falls around us like Christmas glitter in the air. Magic and the moon behind curtains of clouds blown in the wind.

My gloveless hands are warm around the tiny human tucked into my chest. Through the loud cacophony, the little one catches his father’s voice, a shock of electricity running through his tiny body in a wiggly request to put him on his feet.

Carefully, I do, watching for his wobbly legs so his face doesn’t tumble into the grass. With clumsy baby steps, he runs towards his dad, who stays on his haunches, one arm stretched for him, the other holding his twin brother.

I can’t believe I once cursed those little things.

At the last step, his foot catches on some lumpy patch of grass and he face-plants like a little penguin. Unbothered, he hoists himself with his tiny arms and goes on his way to his dad and brother. Somewhere in the vicinity, their uncle cackles. Camila sends an elbow to his ribs, effectively silencing him, but she’s just as amused, and enamored, with her offspring.

They walk on, together, to meet their family.

But I can’t move.

Strong arms cocoon me from behind, parallel lines to my collarbones, and soft lips touch my hair in a silent hello. Then his chin rests on top of my head, the final step of a dance I know all too well.

Like coming home.

And just like that, the world goes on as it ceases to exist to us.

“You’re sweaty.” I twist my nose and melt into Miles, nonetheless.

“I know.” He presses closer still against my back so that not one hair can fit between our bodies, his low chuckle rumbling in his core, shooting straight to my heart.

Four years and I still can’t quite understand all the chemical reactions only he can incite in me.

Miles unzips my burgundy puffer jacket to frame my small bump in his hands. Warmth penetrates through the layers of clothing—and he feels it too.

The kicks go wild against Miles’s hands—I swear our little bug has memorized his father’s fingerprints to greet him effusively every time. “He’s happy for his daddy, too.”

The veins in which my son’s blood runs pulse as Miles’s hands flex. No matter how much my husband loves his job, his achievements, I know he’s dying to get me home. Naked in our bed, holding us for hours as he tells our baby all his favorite stories and our fairy-tale history.

Just the three of us.

“I was thinking we should go home,” he whispers in my ear as he starts walking us in the direction of our family. “Now.”

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